and inside
in the wind
for a spell



rebellion. it’s a challenging thing. it’s a necessary thing. the occasional rebellion is just as necessary as the usual one. the small rebellion is just as necessary as the big one. but it’s the small rebellions, it seems, that bewitch the spirit unto somatic… no, HOLISTIC… ecstasy.

this morning,
though a stack of books cried for connection,
and a clinical paper begged for completion…

i indulged a small rebellion.

rather than sit in my office… at my desk… surrounded by all of the objects and subjects that are such an integral part of my daily life… i went into my kitchen… and cooked up a tempest.

roasted whole chicken with herbes de provence. potato and onion wedges with fresh lavender buds. cracked black pepper, fleur de sel, and generous swirls of extra virgin olive oil over everything. orzo with homemade tomato sauce, basil, garlic, and yes… more extra virgin olive oil. fresh garden salad with raspberry walnut vinaigrette.

and though it is not winter,
but sparkling summer,
while i cooked,
i indulged in one of my favorite drinks…

one tablespoon of valrhona cocoa powder.
two dollops of belgian candi.
one cup of piping hot full cream milk
(yes. full cream. nothing else will do).
one wild carousel ride with the spoon.
one small respite (patience is bliss)…
while a delicate skin formed at the top of the brew.
one sprinkling of cayenne pepper.
one pinch of sel gris de guĂ©rande.

one large plunge into the lap of luxury.

these were my humble… and heady… pleasures for today!
this was my small rebellion.
small… but not secondary.

the clinical paper?
that’s a big rebellion.
it’s not going anywhere.
i’ll address it tomorrow.



something mythical happened today. 

i was at a used bookstore, browsing the shelves in the mental health section, my hands caressing the names of the authors imprinted on the spines. satir. and perls. and lowen. and the voice of norah jones entered my consciousness. and the music seeped through my flesh. and... in the face of self-consciousness... and social propriety... my body rocked. rocked. rocked. at the mercy of nothing but the virgin drive of its own voice.

my inner critic tried to divert me from my flow. and my inner judge called me 'silly.' but my joy knew joy. and what can step in the way of that? what, i ask? 

i did not allow those voices. there was no place for them. there was only room for movement. euphoria. and trance. there was only room for self inside a world of limitless dimensions. there was only room for body. and breath. and bones.



she said,
there’s no more conflict in my life.
i’m not sure what to do with myself.

i said,
what does conflict do for you?

she said,
it keeps me occupied.
it keeps me ‘with cause.’

i said,
what is it like for you
to be without conflict?

she said,
i don’t… well, strangely… i feel conflicted…
like if i’m not in conflict, something will
come out of nowhere and want
to fight me all over again.

i said,
it sounds like, in your fearful avoidance of
conflict, you’re creating it for yourself.

she said,
yes! yes… that’s it!

i said,
embrace your no-conflict reality.
sit inside of it.
sit with it.

she said,
but what about those things
that will want to fight me?
i know they’ll come.

i said,
sit with them, too.
one day, what fights you
will be what sets you free.



another mindful serendipity...

hopscotch in white heat

jagged pebbles stumble
on the bumpy pavement

the oaks gaze with envy



this... yes, this... is the quietest hour. 

my breath rasps against the solitude.
my lungs expand and collapse.

the ground caves with resignation.
the emptiness creaks with resolution.

where am i when i am not inside this moment?
where are we when we are not inside ourselves?

i glide my lips across the thinness of the air.
a song erupts inside my throat.

i am my own moment in time.
who will tell me otherwise?

will you?
will you...

will you sing with me?
will you join me in this chant?

sit with me, for a spell.
but, please... don't fill my ears with platitudes.

i am my own moment in time.
will you tell me otherwise?

i rest my temple upon the neck of this noiselessness.
my eyes close in acquiescence.

i am my own moment in time.